We're blood
by indaelible
Summary: Sam saw in Dean's eyes the unforgiving truth: his brother wasn't going to be able to hold on much longer. "I won't let anything— We're blood, Dean. So you just—" Sam stopped short. Brain fuzzy with tension and panic and pain, he thought back to what he had just said. "God, I'm so stupid." / Who needs a real plot when you can just hurt the Winchesters, am I right?


**Author's Note:** I _**love**_ Angst and Hurt/Comfort. I also love young Winchesters. So this spontaneously happened... I apologize in advance for any medical mistakes (you'll know what I mean once you get there). I have no clue how the particular procedure I mention actually works, but I loved the idea of it (and let's face it, I wanted to make it as dramatic as I could because... _angst_ ). Also, I'm not a native English speaker and I didn't have a Beta in this! Sorry for any mistakes! I guess I'm done talking so... here you go! Hope you like it!

* * *

"No, hey. Dean? _Dean!_ " Green eyes blinked slowly opened and Sam let out a shuddering breath. "Stay awake, okay?"

At Dean's unconvincing nod, Sam's eyes traveled to the other occupant of the room. "You. Fix him."

The doctor focused on him, eyes wide with panic. "Me? How the hell am I supposed to-"

"I don't care!" Dean's body shuddered against him as he let out the angry shout. He brought both hands to his hair, tugging at them, before lowering one once again on his brother's white face, then bringing it back to the still bleeding wound on his torso. He grimaced in sympathetic pain as he pushed harder into it, trying— _failing_ —to stop the bleeding. "You're the doctor. Figure it out."

"Figure it—" He heard the doctor laugh out loud, no humor in it. "He's bleeding out, kid! What am I supposed to do here, exactly?"

Sam licked his lips, eyes going back and forth between the pool of blood on the ground and his brother's face. "There's no blood here and it's not like I can fabricate it, can I?" Sam's breath caught in his throat. The doctor was right. They weren't in a blood bank and they weren't in a hospital. They couldn't go there. Sam's eyes suddenly focused when he felt a cold touch on his now blood-covered hands. "Sammy, it's—"

Interrupting his brother mid-sentence, Sam's eyes tore to Dean's, silencing him. "God, you're freezing."

"Hypothermia is a cause of blood loss," unhelpfully supplied the doctor.

Sam moved his body so that he could take off his—well, Dean's, really—jacket and cover his brother with it. "Dean, hey." His brother's lips were opened, eyes squeezed shut as shivers of either pain or cold made his body tremble. Dean moaned when Sam pushed all his weight against the wound. "I know, I'm sorry."

"Saaammy." His brother was getting colder by the second. "You did your best, it's ok-"

Sam shook his head, tears streaming down his face. He took in a ragged breath, throat closed up. "Don't you _dare_ ," he started, voice shaking. "Don't you dare give up on me. It's not even—" Sam stopped himself. He didn't want to lie to his brother. "I'm gonna fix it. You just have to hold on, okay? I'll figure it out." Sam saw in Dean's eyes the unforgiving truth: his brother wasn't going to be able to hold on much longer. "I won't let anything— We're blood, Dean. So you just—" Sam stopped short. Brain fuzzy with tension and panic and pain, he thought back to what he had just said. _We're blood._ "God, I'm so stupid." He moved his tear-filled gaze wildly around the room until it was focused on the doctor. "We're the same blood type."

 _SPN **•** SPN **•** SPN_

"Good to know, kid."

Sam almost laughed. "You can do a transfusion, right? If we're the same blood type? It's doable, right?" Sam was already in motion, bringing his sleeve up so that his forearm was exposed. He looked down at his brother when he felt clammy fingers close around his thigh.

"No." Dean's words were no stronger than a breath. "That's too dan-"

"You insane? That's too dangerous!" unknowingly echoed the doctor.

Sam hadn't looked away from his brother's green eyes. "I don't care," he said simply. His gaze shifted back to the doctor's. "I don't care," he repeated when he saw he hadn't moved. He shifted his head slightly to the side, wondering. "You can do it, right?"

"Of course I can do it!" The doctor stood up quickly and started pacing back and forth, arms going wide. "But I won't! It could kill you both!"

Sam would take a _could_ over a _will_ anytime. He shifted his stance and gripped his fingers around the knife Dean always had in his right boot. His other hand was still pressed tightly against his brother's side, blood still pouring from it. They didn't have time for this. He took the blade out and pressed it gingerly against his left forearm. He heard the doctor gasp in surprise, but his gaze didn't shift. "Either you do it or I will, Doc."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Sam cringed at the sudden shout and when he noticed his brother hadn't, he realized he had finally succumbed to oblivion. "Kid, I should cut deep enough to get to your arteries. You could bleed out yourself. I won't do it." Sam's gaze finally met his. His eyes narrowed. "I won't do it."

Biting his lower lip, Sam nodded to himself. He focused his gaze back on his own forearm. "Here goes nothing," he muttered, taking a deep steadying breath before pushing the blade deep against his skin. Blood started to pour out right away, red hot agony enveloping his body but he kept on cutting as deep as he dared. His ears were rumbling in time with the blood pouring out of his body. He hadn't realized he had closed his eyes until he felt hands shift his grip on the blade and tighten around his cut arm. "-hell is wrong with you?" He opened bleary eyes, batting his lids rapidly. A hiss escaped them as a hand forcibly pushed against his now freely bleeding arm. When his eyes were finally able to focus, he found himself level with the doc's lips, mouthing words at him. Sam opened his mouth a couple of times before he was able to speak. "Listen, doc." He felt the other man's attention shift slightly. He was faintly aware that his free arm had found his brother's forehead and was resting there. "You wanna help? Good. You don't? I'm still — aaah," he cringed as the doc increased the pressure on his arm.

"Goddamnit!" Sam jumped at the sudden noise. He forced his gaze back on the doc's. "You're a stubborn motherfucker, aren't you?" He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Fine. Jesus. Keep pressure on that." Sam did as he was told, free hand shifting from his brother's pale face to his own arm and closed around it as hard as he could. He gulped loudly as dizziness hit him and shifted his gaze to his brother's limp form. Covered in what used to be Dad's old leather jacket, Dean would be looking like he was asleep if it wasn't for the pool of blood getting wider and wider. Sam drunkenly realized his knees were half covered in it and felt sicker. Then he realized it was because his uninjured hand was now hanging limply from his body, and blood was pouring freely from his injured one.

Doc was crouching next to him again, his brows furrowed. He shifted his gaze to meet Sam's. "You're a piece of cake, aren't you?" He shook his head. "Keep pressure on your arm, butcher guy."

Sam saw him fumble with various utensils. He opened his mouth: "It's Sam." He did a double take. That wasn't what he had wanted to say at all. "What about my bro-" he stopped mid-sentence when Doc forced his uninjured arm to close around the gaping cut on his left one. He breathed through the pain, a moan escaping his lips.

"You thought that hurt?" Doc let out a humorless laugh. "Wait until I put a needle in your artery."

Sam watched with unfocused eyes as he fumbled around with a needle and a tube. His head was pulsing in time with the blood dripping from his arm. He felt Doc mutter under his breath as he pulled Sam's left arm to him, and unconsciously stopped breathing when he felt fingers prod the inside of his wound. Stomach churning, he shut his eyes tighter, gritting his teeth. Dizzy, he opened his eyes after what felt like hours when he felt someone tap his cheek lightly. "Breathe." For a desperate second, Sam thought it was Dean's voice and his expectations were let down as he found himself looking at Doc's chocolate eyes instead. Letting out a shuddering breath, his gaze shifted to his brother and he saw a tube connected to his left arm as well. Following it, he found it linked back to the wound on Sam's own arm. Blood was flowing through it at a steady rhythm. "Oh," Sam mumbled unintelligibly.

"Yeah, _oh_ ," said Doc sarcastically. He took him in. "Are you gonna lie down now?"

Sam shook his head despite the dizziness, jostling his arm in the process. He hissed in pain and took a deep calming breath. "No?" He could hear the exasperation in Doc's tone. "Stubborn motherfucker," he breathed again.

Sam's lips twitched in an almost smile. His eyes shifted on his brother and he sobered up quickly. The wound was still bleeding and if it wasn't for the slight movement of his lungs, Sam would have thought he was … He unconsciously shifted closer, the index finger of his right hand resting against Dean's carotid. He closed his eyes again, head upturned.

"Okay, I'm gonna stitch him up. Listen, you gotta—" Sam nodded and started clenching and unclenching his left fist, so that more blood was pumping out of his system and into his brother's. He shifted position so that his head was resting on his knees, left hand resting on top of them as the right kept checking his brother's too slow pulse. He nodded off listening to Doc's huffs and mumblings.

 _SPN **•** SPN **•** SPN_

"—that you can't talk to them, am I supposed to slap them awake or something?" A loud crash. "Unbelievable. Unbelievable!"Sam jostled awake, coming to all at once as he took in the unknown voice. Where was he? His whole body hurt and he felt weak and dizzy. He was huddled on the floor in a position that made his back hurt like a bitch. His left arm screamed in pain and his right hand … He moved it slightly and felt relief as he felt a slight _thud_ under his fingers. _Dean_. He shifted his gaze to his brother, straightening his back. Dean looked — well, not exactly better but … There was more color on his cheeks and he didn't seem so cold anymore. After a quick search — during which Sam managed to jostle his left arm and almost passed out from pain — he found a white bandage had been secured on the wound on Dean's torso. Sam breathed out. Dean was gonna be fine.

"Look, old man— Well because you sound like one, that's why! Sam woke up, or something." Doc put the phone against his chest as he came closer to him. "How you doin', kid?" He didn't wait for Sam to answer and crutched beside him, passing him his phone. "Phone kept going off so I finally answered. It's your uncle? I guess. Anyways, I'm pretty sure he thinks I kidnapped you guys so if you could, you know…"

Sam wasn't awake enough for this kind of blabbering. He took the phone and mumbled something unintelligible into it. "Sam? What the hell happened to you boys?"

Sam smiled around his answer. "Bobby." His voice came out low and croaky. He cleared his throat. "We're—" He paused, before continuing. "We're gonna be fine, uncle Bobby."

He heard the sound of an engine running, then a sigh. "I'm coming to get you. That brother of yours okay?"

Sam stilled, then nodded, then realized Bobby couldn't see him. "I guess." Sam couldn't tear his thoughts away from the last time Dean had been conscious: pale, trembling, loosing so much blood he was about to die. His voice trembled, as he continued. "He better."

He heard Bobby chuckle on the other hand of the line. "Yeah, he better. Listen, Sammy— you did good, kiddo." Something like pride filled Sam in the pause after the gruff compliment. "Okay, listen. Give the phone back to that Doc of yours. I'll be there as soon as I—"

A sharp pain suddenly made Sam flinch. The phone almost fell from his ear as he let out a high squelch. "What the—" Doc was fumbling with his injured arm and Sam saw the blood in the tube first slow down and then still completely. Doc put more weight on his wound and Sam hissed, loudly. "What the hell are you doing? What about him?"Doc didn't look at him. "The point of this? Was him getting more blood. Not to get you shocky from blood loss." Sam saw him fumble with his bag and lift out a needle and thread. He pulled his arm away from him, ignoring the pain.

"Are you sure that's enough? That he's gonna be—"

"Kid, none of this is fine. Hell, you cut yourself so deep I can see _bone_." As if to underline the point, Sam's arm started to pulse more insistingly than before. He ignored it. "He's as good as expected. Certainly a hell of a lot better than he was 2 hours ago." His eyes met Sam's. "Now let me take care of this, okay?"

Sam let Doc pull his arm gently towards him once again. He suddenly remembered the phone still in his other hand. Between what had certainly been a garble of insults, Sam could make out an _idjits_ and a _Winchesters_. "Bobby?"

"What the hell was that about?" Bobby asked gruffly, his voice toneless in his angst.

"Nothing." Sam's breath itched as Doc put in a stitch. He nodded when he felt the guy stiffen and stop his ministrations. Doc started up again. "Just—" Sam scrunched his nose up, eyes closed shut as he took a calming breath. "Just get here, okay?"

He heard Bobby sigh heavily, could see in his head the old man take his baseball cap off his head and then on again in frustration. "You hang in there, you hear me? I'll call you back when I'm closer. Tell that doc of yours—"

His head suddenly heavy, Sam allowed Doc to push him gently in a laying position. He felt the older guy reach for his phone and Sam shifted his right hand until he found again his brother's pulse. It was gonna be okay. Bobby was on his way and Dean was alive. Sam felt weighted down by all the tension and anxiety he had felt throughout the day. Drained of every energy, he shuffled closer to his brother, shut his eyes once more and fell asleep in a matter of seconds.

 _SPN **•** SPN **•** SPN_

Dean woke up slowly. He didn't open his eyes right away, letting his other senses roam free as his mind slowly caught up with what had happened. His back felt stiff and his torso was screaming in pain. He felt a rather prickly sensation in his left forearm that he couldn't quite place. He was covered by something warm and something warmer was huddled against him. The sound of someone sleeping deeply filled his senses and he shifted his head slowly to his left side, suddenly realizing what exactly the warmth against his side was. As he blinked his eyes opened he saw Sammy. He was sleeping next to him, his right arm stretched over Dean's left. His long wild hair covered half of his face. Dean smiled at the familiar sight. His younger brother sighed deeply and shifted away somewhat stiffly. Eyes still closed, he let out a long moan. "D'n?"

A soft smile on his lips, Dean shifted his arm to brush some of Sam's hair out of his face. "Hey, kiddo." His gaze shifted slightly and came to rest on Sam's left arm. A white bandage, dirty with blood, covered his forearm almost completely. Dean frowned. When had that happened? His gaze shifted again on his brother's face, taking in his mole before focusing on his eyes. Hazel eyes were staring widely at him. In the soft light of— wherever they were, they looked comically big and somewhat blueish, a stark contrast with his brother's dark hair. Sam was so focused on him he didn't even seem to be breathing. Dean found he couldn't tear his gaze away. He saw Sam blink and his eyes become misty. Sam's right hand slid through their bodies until it rested on Dean's neck. He had no idea what was happening, until he heard Sam let out a shaky breath of relief and he realized his brother's fingers were resting right over his pulse point. Sam closed his eyes. "You're okay." Dean watched his throat work once, then twice before he spoke again. "I thought you were—"

Everything came back at him all at once. The disastrous hunt that never should have been. The gunshot wound low on his torso. The blood oozing out of it constantly and relentless. Sam's wide eyes turning stern and stubborn. Sam desperately prodding him to go a little bit farther, _we're almost there, Dean_. Sam talking on the phone with someone, Sam trying to keep him upright. Sam aiming his gun and almost daring people to give him an excuse to use it. Sam pushing him into a house and tumbling down with him as his knees finally gave out. _Stay awake._ Sam's moistening eyes when he had tried to say goodbye. _Don't you_ dare _. Don't you dare give up on me._ Dean wasn't sure _how_ he wasn't dead. He had felt his forces dimming, his heartbeat slowing down, the cold take over his body. Everything had started to become confused after that. He remembered words like _same blood type … doable … too dangerous_ being thrown around but— Dean's eyes suddenly widened and went to his brother's left arm, to the bandage stained with blood there. "I had to." Dean's eyes went back to his brother's. His mouth had suddenly went dry, and it wasn't because he had just woken up.

"Sam, you could have—"

Stubborn hazel eyes stared down at him. "I _had_ to," more forceful this time. Dean saw him bite his cheek, his eyes unfocused before they met his again, now filled with unshed tears. "I thought you were gonna," he stopped himself. Bit his lower lip. "I _had_ to."

Dean took a loud intake of air. All of the pain and fear his brother had felt was written in his eyes. Sam had been scared and alone and had to trust some random guy with Dean's life. Dean's own eyes moistened in sympathy. Sam had been reckless and stupid and could have died but— Dean's throat clenched. Sam had come through. He always did. "It's okay. I'm good, you're good. It's okay."

Dean watched Sam's throat work and his breath itch. _To hell with chick-flick moments._ "Come here," he breathed, pulling his little brother closer with his left hand. If both of them hissed in pain when they made contact, neither of them cared.

 _SPN **•** SPN **•** SPN_

When Bobby finally arrived, with dark bruises under his eyes and a multitude of colorful ideas to call the both of them and all Winchesters in general, they were both asleep again. Sam was pressed flat against Dean's side, Dean's arm as a pillow under his head, his big brother's fingers tangled in his wild hair. Sam's injured arm—wherever that had come from, anyway—was torn across his brother's torso, inches over the infamous gunshot wound Dean had sustained. Bobby took his baseball cap off and ran his hands through it, before putting it back on. "Ya idjits," he mumbled with a relieved sigh under his breath. If he saw the brothers' lips slightly upturn when he spoke, he didn't say anything about it.


End file.
